The End of Death
by sarrissapen
Summary: Fifty years after being shipwrecked on Yamatai Island, Lara Croft must come to terms with a fractured past in order to win a happy future.
1. Chapter 1

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

(Hamlet Act 1, Scene 5)

The dream begins as it always has these last six months. She is in a land of intense heat and a tidal wave is rushing towards her. It is so tall that its foamy peak seems to swallow the clouds.

Suddenly, the wall of water is right before them; Lara opens her mouth to speak but the water is quicker. They are knocked backwards, then lifted off their feet. Round and round they tumble. All is dark. But they do not let go of one another.

Lara takes a deep breath and does not drown. The water tears at the rags that cover her body and violently strips them away. When she is naked, the wounds and scars that criss-cross her skin are scoured and opened though she feels no pain.

The tidal wave rushes on; the two bodies fall and rise. One moment they are opposite one another; the next, merging into one, breasts pressing together, legs intertwining, lips kissing and biting.

And then, the light; with it, Lara awakes, coughing, drenched in sweat, her heart pounding, her muscles tense. She takes the first of several deep breaths, forcing air into herself, down a reluctant throat, into lungs that still think they are full of water.

But Lara's will is stronger than her body's fear, and within a few minutes, her heart rate is normal once again; her body is dry, breathing regular, and she is looking at her tanned, deeply lined face in the broken mirror hanging from the withered bush in front of her.

She looks tired and worn out, as worn out as the short grey hair that lies damp on the top of her skull, but the eyes remain alive yet. Chestnut brown, fierce and defiant; they'll never be tired. Anger fuels them, anger and hate.

Realising this, Lara turns away from herself quickly and closes her eyes to the present. She goes back to the tidal wave, back to the past; back to the world she destroyed, and she cries for her crime, begs silently for forgiveness.

And behind Lara, the hot air shivers and takes the form of a woman who reaches out to bless her.


	2. Chapter 2

At the same moment that the gunshot rings out, a clap of thunder rends the sky directly overhead.

As a result, no one in this Los Angeles apartment block hears the discharge. The rain continues to drive down, just as it has all month. All August month.

Fifteen minutes earlier, Sam Campbell (nee Nishimura) arrives at the apartment. She goes straight into her bedroom, closes the door, and takes out an envelope from her handbag; she then pulls out the folded paper that lies within and reads it one last time.

This is not the end, Tom, only the beginning.  
I love you.

Mom

There is an unopened bottle of red wine on the desk. A glass stands next to it. Sam put them there this morning, intending to take a sip now before she did what has come to do but changed her mind during the day. She doesn't want anyone thinking that she killed herself in anything other than her right mind.

Sam hides the bottle and glass in one of the desk drawers and puts the note on the desk in their place. Then, she reaches into her handbag once more, and this time, pulls out a pistol.

Without looking at it, she turns away from the desk, and faces a door adjacent to the one she just came through. She purses her lips, stares determinedly at the door, and raises the gun.

Outside, the wind howls and the rain slams against the window. It rattles loudly. And as Sam puts the nozzle of the gun into her mouth, the glass cracks.

It shatters, and sprinkles upon the floor like hard-form rain. The wind shrieks triumphantly and wraps its cold fingers around Sam's body. It pushes her gun arm upwards so that the nozzle touches the top of her mouth and presses down against her trigger finger.

Sam pauses, determined to act when she alone is ready. Then, at two minutes past two in the morning, still staring at the door, she pulls the trigger. The thunder applauds. Sam's body hits the floor. The thunder could not have acted more maliciously if it had been sentinent.

No one heard the shot; no one heard her fall. Sam lies still, shallow breaths, conscious – just – and dying. Thanks to the thunder, no one will come to her aid before her last breath leaves her in an hour's time.

Tom Nishimura is eating breakfast with his friend, Richard Harrison, when the doorbell rings.

Two police officers, young and solemn, stand in front of him.

When Richard hears the glass break upon the floor, he rushes through to the living room to see what has happened. Tom is standing there, the police officers with him.

"Tom…"

The day passes in a haze. Tom's father, Sam's husband who threw her out of his house thirty-four years ago following an argument that, coincidentally, also ended at two minutes past two in the morning refuses to leave his home for the first time in twenty years to formally identify her body so Tom goes instead.

He is surprised and relieved to see that his mother's face is intact. For some reason he imagined that the bullet would destroy it.

After the mortuary, home. With Richard's help, he makes such telephone calls as need to be made, then switches the phone off. He can't stop people ringing his doorbell, though. Or the knocking on the door.

There are photographers outside and fans laying flowers outside his apartment as if he was the one who had died. As the morning progresses, more and more television news crews arrive and helicopters hover above.

Richard closes the curtains. Tom is an actor, the latest all American action hero. Too many people want a slice of his grief.

But about that grief.

It is night time, now. Sam's agent has just left. Tom sits on the edge of the couch. He looks at the floor as if in disbelief.

"Richard," he says, "I haven't cried all day."

"You haven't had time." Richard replies, softly.

"No… but… I'm not sure I will."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I… I don't know. It's just…" Tom shakes his head as he tries to find the words. He looks up at Richard who is a master of them, and in several languages, but his friend, his dear friend, keeps his counsel, not wanting to intrude upon his grief.

"This was always going to happen," Tom says, finally, "It wasn't a case of if but when. All her mental health problems – they were leading to this – I know it… I knew it; perhaps she did, too. How can I feel sad when she is now, finally, at peace?" Richard makes no reply. He just nods. In truth, he doesn't know what to say. Both his parents are still alive. He has never lost anyone close to him.

Sam's funeral takes place two weeks later at St John's Parish church north of Abbingdon Estate in Dorset, England. In fact, the graveyard where Sam is laid to rest overlooks the estate's north end.

It is a quiet affair – family (that is, Tom) and a few friends only. Sam had an agent, but had not made a film for ten years. Her friends had nearly all moved on. Those who remained marvelled at the dusty stonework of the church and fraying military flags that lined the walls. But they also wondered – why had Sam asked in her will to be buried here? An obscure village where she had never been before?

But they are wrong. She had. Fifty years ago exactly. Not long after her plane from Japan had landed at Heathrow.

"That's when I saw her," Mr Bartly says. It is the evening after the funeral. He is behind the bar pulling a pint for one of his regulars. The film journalist – the only mourner who has stayed behind in the village – nods with a smile. In truth, however, he is annoyed. He had tried to solicit an anecdote about Tom Nishimura. No one cares about his mother, anymore; she stopped being relevant long before the release of her last film.

"She looked beautiful," Mr Bartly continues, "but strange. She was dressed all in black and hid herself behind these big sunglasses and a hat. She passed by the river and for a good hour or two just stood there, staring at the Croft house."

"How'd you know it was her, Dickie?" a red-faced regular asks before nearly falling off his stool.

"When she came back," Mr Bartly says, "she came up to me and asked if I had caught anything. I said nah. I'm not made for fishing. I asked her if there was anything I could do for her – her clothes looked rich and I didn't have a penny in my pocket – she shook her head sad like and walked away before stopping, taking off her sunglasses and saying 'If you see Lara, tell her Sam was here.' She paused and said 'Don't worry, you won't see her.' That's when she threw me a tenner. When she became famous with her films, I thought – That's the lady I saw, and never forgot her kindness."

It's a nice story; the journalist files it away in his memory, to be forgotten at a later date; the regulars forget about it now. Beer is more important to them. As they drink and discuss last night's TV, Tom flies home.

It's over, he tells himself, mom is dead and it's over. Just then, the aeroplane starts rocking from side to side. The captain comes on to the public address system to apologise for the turbulence. Tom looks out the window. Lightning stabs the sky in the distance. He frowns. Where is it coming from? There must be clouds higher than the 'plane because otherwise it is going upwards and that's impossible. Isn't it?

Just then, screaming. Lightning shears across the sky underneath the aeroplane. It tips violently to one side buffeted by the winds, and Tom, though he knows it is impossible, is sure he hears laughter coming from outside.


End file.
